Guilty by Absence
by Catmint
Summary: [LightningStruck Tower arc companion to Bitter Partings] Pansy Parkinson records in her diary the events of that fateful night in HBP when the worlds of so many are shattered, an entry that shows the devastation caused to Slytherin's sixthyear prefect.


**Guilty by Absence**

**Disclaimer:** not mine. I make no money. Pansy's middle name is entirely of my invention.

÷

Part of the _**Lightning-Struck Tower**_ arc, which encompasses various characters' perspectives from the _Half Blood Prince_ chapter of the same name.

_Bitter Partings_, posted a few months ago, though not part of this story arc, is a companion fic to this.

Apologies for taking so long to get this up. I've just been soooooo busy.

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_Diary of Pansy I. Parkinson, on this occasion dictated by a Quick-Quotes Quill_

Gone.

Disappeared.

Dead.

I can't take it in. It doesn't seem real. It's like a dream.

But if it were a dream I could wake up and none of this would have happened. I've tried pinching myself and Millie's hexed me a few times (at my request) and it's hurt every time, so I suppose it _must_ be real.

This doesn't make sense. Suddenly, nothing does. Not now. In one night, my world has collapsed. I'm scared of what the future holds now – I see nothing but black despair. And no, I'm not exaggerating and nor have I been reading too many of Millie's Gothic novels.

I no longer have any hope.

WHY HAVE YOU DONE THIS? WHY? _WHY?_ You said you'd help me – help us _both_ – out of the ties that bind us. You said you'd sort protection for us and any family members that needed it. Not that anyone in _my_ family would take it up. They're as lost in the Dark Arts as Bellatrix Lestrange (though not quite as insane because _nobody_ can be as insane as she is). And you've taken my best friend, my soulmate (or whatever the phrase in Slytherin is – "soulmate" is entirely too Hufflepuffy for my liking), with you. Probably, that is. Potter says you left the school grounds together. Where are you now?

Dumbledore is dead and YOU KILLED HIM. _You_, who swore blind that you would help Draco and me to safety. YOU _LIED_ TO ME. You _know_ how difficult I find it to trust people. You took that trust and abused it. Perhaps you can't help it, if the rumours are true. Rumours of your parents being poorer than the Weasleys, rumours of you being abused at home, rumours of you being bullied at school…Maybe you never learned to trust.

But _we_ trusted _you_. We put _all_ our trust in you and you swore blind that you would help us and then you turned round and did the worst thing possible.

You killed Dumbledore. You killed my one hope. And you took Draco with you and now I have _nothing_, _nobody_.

Why? Why did you do it? Why did you – 'scuse a moment: Millie's brought me a scrap of parchment and says it's urgent.

Pansy – 

_I am sorry that it had to happen this way. I did not want it to. No doubt you feel that I have betrayed you, but you understand little. I have no time yet for long explanations, but know this. We are safe enough, though in hiding. An Unbreakable Vow was made. DUMBLEDORE KNEW OF THIS. When I saw him that night, we both knew that there was no hope. It had to be done. He would have died in agony, had I not…_

_You have somewhere safe, when the time is right. I will not fail you. I promised to protect you and it will be done. I ask only for your trust, hard though it may seem now._

It is unsigned, but I know it's from Snape. His handwriting is as familiar to a Slytherin as their own face and language is his formal, slightly old-fashioned style.

Why am I crying? I hardly ever cry. What's wrong with me?

What am I meant to think? Is he saying he's _not_ loyal to the Dark Lord? That he's still, despite _everything_ that's happened, fighting for Potter? I don't know. I don't know _anything_ anymore.

How much of this is my fault? Draco is my best friend; I should have stepped in, intervened, _long_ before any of this happened. I should have paid more attention to him. I should have asked more questions. I should have talked him out of it. I should have stopped him.

I SHOULD HAVE BEEN THERE FOR HIM WHEN HE NEEDED ME.

That's what it all comes down to. But I wasn't, so he turned to a _ghost_ instead – the ghost of a girl who's been dead for over fifty years – to confide in. I was too busy doing other things, _trivial_ things, to let him talk to me. I could see that he was desperately unhappy, that he was thin and almost grey. Blaise and Theo said he'd been sleeping badly all year. But I – I was too wrapped up in keeping my back covered, in convincing my housemates of my loyalty to the Dark Lord's cause yet remaining out of the ideological conflict in which the wizarding world is currently embroiled. I may not be the most academic of people, but I'm not stupid, contrary to what a lot of people seem to think.

A few times this year, Draco asked if we could "talk". It wasn't a very Draco-ish request and that should have been enough to alert me, but no – "I'm busy at the moment", and, "Can't it wait a bit?" and other such things.

_How_ could I have been so bloody _stupid?_ _How_ could I not have _realised? How _could I have been so _blind?_ He's meant to be my _best friend_ and I as good as abandoned him.

And now he'll die. Now he might die and I might never get to see him again. We parted on bitter terms, the night everything happened. He said he had to go. Given how late it was, I asked where – we'd already done our prefect duties and I'd threatened that wretched arrogant third-year brat of an upstart Malcolm Baddock with detention if he didn't hand over all the Dungbombs in his bag. I don't really need to say that he handed them over without argument. He knows better than to mess with Draco and myself.

Draco said he had something important to do. I, naturally, asked what. The response I got was: "Keep your big nose out of _my_ business for _once_ in your stupid life, Parkinson! No wonder that's your name – you're certainly nosy enough!" I told him that no, I wouldn't, because he was my best friend and I cared about him too much. I grabbed his arm, tried to get him to look me in the eye.

I didn't mean to spatter the page with tears just now. But what he said next broke my heart and it hurts just as much now as it did when he first said it. Broke my heart because what he said – well, _screamed_ would be more accurate – next was _true_. He pulled free from me, and I've never seen such fury blazing in his eyes. "If you cared about me so much, then _where the hell __**were**__ you this year?_Well, Parkinson? _Where were you?_ You don't know what the _hell's_ been going on in my life because you _haven't been there!_ Well, let me tell you this – you'll soon find out!" And then he stormed out.

That was the last time I saw him.

I can't stop crying now. My tears are making my words blurry. I keep replaying that row, our last conversation, in my head over and over and over again. I might never see him again, not alive, not after what happened. Potter's saying that it was Snape who did it, that Draco couldn't. For that, I am relieved. Draco may be obsessed with the Dark Arts, but he's no killer. Because that's what his mission was, that's where he was going the last time I saw him.

And for that perceived failure, the Dark Lord will see to it that he will be punished. I know what "punishment" involves, and it makes my blood run cold.

But that fight. We parted in bitterness, possibly forever. I can't keep Draco's words out of my head. Because he was right; what he said was true – I _wasn't_ there for him. He needed me and _I wasn't there_. And so I have condemned him.

I, Pansy Imogen Parkinson, am guilty by absence.

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**Ω fin Ω**


End file.
